


Threat Assessment

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-19
Updated: 2005-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Slowly he raised his hands in the air and turned to face McKay, who was standing beside the door, his back to the wall. In the dim light filtering through the shuttered balcony doors, John could see McKay's Beretta pointed at him.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threat Assessment

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely and totally kink porn, with no redeeming qualities. Just so you know. *g* I blame it on watching _Darklight_ recently. Guh.
> 
> Written for the "Guns, Thighs, and Holsters" day on [advent_atlantis](http://www.livejournal.com/users/advent_atlantis/).

The lights didn't come up when John stepped through the door, which was maybe a little unusual, but that alone didn't set off any mental alarm bells. No, the alarm bells didn't go off until the doors had shut and locked, until he heard McKay's voice, soft and menacing. "I think you should probably put your hands up, Colonel. And then turn around slowly."

Adrenaline sent John's heart pounding and his mind racing. Could he draw his sidearm before McKay could take him out? Probably not. He weighed his options and decided it would be best to do what McKay said for the time being and look for an opening later. Maybe McKay would let his guard down if he thought John was being cooperative.

Slowly he raised his hands in the air and turned to face McKay, who was standing beside the door, his back to the wall. In the dim light filtering through the shuttered balcony doors, John could see McKay's Beretta pointed at him.

He tried to look as non-threatening as he could. "Hey, Rodney. You don't really need that," a nod toward the gun, "do you?" McKay smiled just a little; it wasn't a pleasant expression. Something in John's gut tightened at the sight of it and he swallowed hard.

"Oh, but I do. You're the one who doesn't need to be armed," McKay said, his tone still frighteningly even. "Very carefully, remove your gun from your holster and toss it over there." He nodded toward the far side of John's bed.

John did as he was told, pulling the Beretta from its holster with just his index finger and thumb, keeping as far away from the trigger as possible. He slid the gun across the floor to the far corner of the room; too far, unfortunately, for even a full-body lunge to recover it.

Even six months ago he would've taken a chance, would've bet on his own reflexes being faster than McKay's, but now? Not so much. Six months of fieldwork, of battling the Wraith, of hand-to-hand combat training—the end result was that McKay was no longer the sedentary geek who'd stepped through the gate from Earth a year ago.

"Now your comm."

Mouth dry, John obeyed. The way McKay was looking at him was twisting the knot in his gut tighter; it was like McKay was sizing him up, deciding whether he was even worth bothering with. John felt stripped naked, uncomfortable because maybe he wasn't as uncomfortable about that as he should've been. The silence had stretched to the point where he was about to ask what next when McKay suddenly shifted the Beretta to his left hand and, his eyes never leaving John's face, unbuttoned and unzipped his khakis.

John's breath hitched.

"I've always wondered if that mouth was good for anything other than smirking and sweet-talking alien priestesses into bed." The Beretta was back in McKay's right hand and John had completely missed the moment of weakness, his gaze fixed on the white triangle of boxers visible in the vee of McKay's unzipped pants. "Come here," McKay ordered, and John shivered.

He took a step, only realizing he'd licked his lips when McKay snorted derisively. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Slut of the Pegasus Galaxy," McKay said, and heat burned in John's cheeks. Somehow, though, that didn't stop the heat that was building in his gut, flowing down to tighten his balls and fill his dick. Folding his arms across his chest to hide the unsteadiness of his hands, he kept moving forward, stopping when he was just out of McKay's reach.

McKay had shifted the aim of his Beretta as John moved; the barrel was touching the front of John's shirt now, and in his peripheral vision John could tell that it was perfectly steady. How could McKay be so cool and calm when John's hands were trembling? Well, yeah, being on the right side of the firearm helped, but still. He'd really had no idea McKay had it in him. None at all.

He could probably knock the Beretta aside, take McKay out. John was still better at hand-to-hand than McKay was, thanks to hours of training with Teyla, and McKay was also likely to be a little...distracted...at the moment. John's dick throbbed, and he was uncomfortably aware that he was also a little distracted at the moment.

"Now is not the time to have a sudden and uncharacteristic attack of modesty, Colonel," McKay said, interrupting John's thoughts. "On your knees."

There was a split second where John considered trying to disarm McKay, despite the fact that the odds weren't on his side, but he found himself sinking to his knees instead, his body apparently far more in touch with reality than his brain was. The floor was cold and hard under his knees, and his dick ached, but he didn't dare do more than just shift slightly.

"Good decision," McKay said, and John should have remembered that McKay was far more perceptive than people usually gave him credit for. He'd obviously been watching—and correctly interpreting—John's internal struggle; working together in close proximity for nearly a year had given McKay insights into John that no one else had. It was something that had been a benefit to them in the field, but was turning out to be a huge liability to John in the current situation.

He tilted his head to the side a little and smiled up at McKay. "I didn't really have a choice, did I?" he said, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that whispered, _Oh, that's good, John. Flirt with the crazy man who's pointing a gun at you._

"We always have a choice, John," McKay said softly. The way he said John's name—almost tenderly—made something twist, sharp and hard, in John's chest, and John didn't exactly make a conscious decision to give in to McKay, to give in to the situation he found himself in, but he stopped fighting all the same.

"What now?" he asked. It was a formality; they both knew what McKay wanted, what John was going to do.

McKay smiled again, a smaller, darkly unamused version of his usual grin. He used the Beretta's barrel to tip John's chin up, then gently tapped its muzzle against John's slightly parted lips. "Now you suck my cock," he answered, and for a second John couldn't breathe.

Then his breath was coming faster, more ragged, and he was sliding his hands up the front of McKay's thighs, not caring anymore that they were trembling. McKay's free hand slid around the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him forward until he was mouthing the hard lines of McKay's erection through the cotton boxers.

Eyes closed, John felt the Beretta's barrel press along his cheekbone, cold against the heat of his face, the acrid smell of burnt powder and gun oil dragging an unexpected moan from him. He rubbed his cheek surreptitiously against the steel slide.

"Open up," McKay ordered, pressing his thumb against John's lips. His voice was rough, and when John opened his eyes and looked up, he found McKay staring down at him with such intensity that John thought he could almost feel it burning into his skin.

He freed McKay's dick from the boxers, opening his mouth and taking it as deep as he could, feeling McKay heavy and solid against his tongue and in the back of his throat. Bracing himself on McKay's hip with his left hand, he wrapped his right around his own dick through his BDUs and jerked himself—hips thrusting with every stroke—in the same rhythm McKay was using to fuck his mouth.

God, he was so close, so very close. He moaned around McKay's dick, letting his throat relax as much as he could and dragging in ragged, desperate breaths whenever McKay pulled back far enough. The fingers in his hair clenched tighter, and he watched as McKay's eyes closed and his lips slowly parted.

"Oh, God, yes," McKay breathed. "Just. I."

John sucked in one last deep breath and swallowed hard around McKay's dick, thighs trembling as he came.

"Fuck." The word was desperate, broken-sounding, and McKay pulled back far enough that John could breathe again, could taste the bitterness of McKay's come and feel McKay's dick pulsing against his tongue. John swallowed, sucking gently until McKay's fingers relaxed and slipped out of his hair.

Rodney slid bonelessly down the wall. "Jesus Christ, John. That was.... I didn't think I could do it." His Beretta clattered to the floor and John winced. "Don't worry," Rodney said, waving his hand dismissively. "Safety's on, clip's empty, and nothing up the spout. I quadruple checked. I'm not an idiot." He smiled wryly. "Kinky, maybe; idiot, no."

"It's a good thing you don't have an evil master plan to rule the universe," John said, curling up between Rodney's outstretched legs and using one of Rodney's thighs as a pillow, "because no way in hell could I stand against that." He felt weak and spent, and he thought it was possible he'd never come that hard before in his life.

"That's okay." Rodney brushed a lock of hair off John's forehead. "If I were an evil genius intent on ruling the universe, you could be one of my sex slaves."

John tilted his head to look up into Rodney's face, raising an eyebrow. "Not so much with the _one of_ ," he said firmly. "But yeah," he continued, closing his eyes and smiling, "I could definitely be your sex slave."


End file.
